An Embarrassment of Riches (33 page)

Another chorus of
Amen
answered him, and a rustle of garments as the assembled Court arose, all silent until the Episcopus stepped back behind the musicians, signaling that the Episcopal audience was at an end. Once again the tabor set the beat; the shawms and gitterns struck up another song—
Love Does Me Great Wrong.

On the far side of the hall, Rakoczy saw that Imbolya was deep in conversation with Rytir Leutpald Verschluss, one of Konig Otakar’s German Guards; her expression was earnest but he was not paying much attention to her words, but was taking in her appearance and the richness of her clothes.

As conversation crescendoed in the vast hall, Rakoczy found a small nook in the wall to the left of the main fireplace and stepped into it; he could watch the Court from here without being readily seen. It was a bit of a risk, for if he were discovered he might be accused of spying, but he was willing to take the chance; there were many questions he sought to have answered, and hoped that this vantage-point would provide him the means to learn by watching.

“Comes,” said a voice just outside the alcove.

Rakoczy concealed the twinge of alarm that shot through him. “Yes?”

Tahir moved into the opening, his gaudy clothes showing he would be performing that evening. “Are you well?”

“Yes, Tahir,” said Rakoczy. “I am quite well.”

“Then you must be hiding,” Tahir decided. “Not that I find that unwise, hiding.”

“No; I am observing.”

“So!” The dwarf tumbler slapped his thigh. “Good fortune to you.” He ducked his head and walked away.

Rakoczy remained where he was, watching the Konige’s company, taking note of the ebb and flow of the Court until the buisines sounded to summon the Court to supper, when he slipped away from the nook and made his way to the end of the dining hall, looking for one of the Konige’s ladies-in-waiting. He finally caught sight of Gyongyi of Tolan, and approached her. “A word with you, Lady,” he said, bowing.

Gyongyi blinked. “Comes,” she responded, courtisying him. “What do you require?”

“I ask you, if you would, to inform the dear Royal that I will send a messenger to her tomorrow to receive her commission.”

“Certainly,” said Gyongyi, trying to contain her curiosity.

“You are most graciously acquiescent; you have my thanks,” said Rakoczy, and took a step away from her, bowing as he went.

“Comes,” she said, halting him. “Aren’t you joining the banquet?”

“Alas, no. The customs of my blood forbid it, for we traditionally dine in private, as dear Royal is aware. And in any case, there are those among the courtiers who believe I am a spy for Konig Bela, and are not sanguine when I attend these functions. My presence could prove awkward for the Konige, so it is best if I leave.” He bowed one last time before going to the vestibule to claim his mantel.

The under-steward handed him his garment, and asked, “Do you need a horse or a carriage from the Konige’s stable to return to your mansion, Comes? Or have you either horse or carriage waiting for you here?”

“Mansion Belcrady is not far from here.” He swung the mantel around his shoulders. “I walked up the ridge; I can as easily walk down.”

“Then you will need an escort.” The under-steward ducked his head.

“For so short a distance? Thank you, but I think not.” He passed on into the entry hall, where more servants opened the door for him. He stepped out into the forecourt, and paused to stare at the red, violet, and luminous dark-blue remnants of sunset that flashed under the clouds that stretched over the world like a gigantic tent. He could tell more rain was coming, and that it would be heavier than what they had just had. He went across the forecourt to the main gate and rang the bell to summon the warder.

“Oh. It’s you,” said the warder when he arrived. “I should have known. No one but you leaves before the banquet.” He laughed once before he drew back the massive bolt and tugged the gate open enough for Rakoczy to pass through it. “God give you a good night, Comes.”

“And to you, good warder,” Rakoczy called back to him, tossing him a golden Vaclav as the warder tugged the gate closed once more. Out in the fading daylight, Rakoczy thought the streets unexpectedly empty; not many people were about, and those who were seemed harried as they rushed along, going down the hill; most of them wore crucifixes conspicuously, and a few had Otakar’s lion on simple badges on their shoulders. The reason for this display was soon apparent as a shout went out from the main gates of Praha, and Rakoczy remembered that five deserters were being hanged in chains at sunset, the Konig officiating at the beginning of their slow execution; the first had just been dropped; the other four would suffer the same fate shortly. Frowning, Rakoczy found himself moving more quickly, and as he lengthened his stride, he heard the sound of hasty footsteps behind him. Although he told himself he was being foolish, he swung around, hoping to see who was there, but once again the street was empty.

The distance between Vaclav Castle and Mansion Belcrady was not great, but for Rakoczy it stretched out ahead of him like the vastness of the Silk Road. He considered running at speed—which, for him, was almost as fast as a galloping horse—but quickly rejected the idea, for if he was not being followed, he might draw the kind of attention to himself that he sought most to avoid. Yet he kept moving at a rapid clip, hoping to force his follower to betray himself.

Rakoczy heard the sound of trotting hooves on the cobbles, and a moment later, three of Otakar’s German Guard emerged from the side-street, all but dragging two hooded men after them as they turned up the hill toward Vaclav Castle. They paid no attention to the Comes.

At the gate to Mansion Belcrady, Rakoczy slipped in through the warder’s door without attracting Minek’s attention, or the notice of most of his household. He made his way to the kitchen garden, and entered the manse by the side-door, startling Kornemon, who was carrying a load of wood in a copper tub with wooden handles into the kitchen.

“Comes,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know you had returned.” He ducked his head respectfully.

“I have, as you see,” he told the stoker. “What has happened in my absence?”

The stoker did not answer at once. “The bricklayer and two of his apprentices were here for a time. They left not long ago. They said they would be back in a day or so, if the weather is clear.” He looked up at the ceiling, shifting the tub from one hand to another. “Someone from the Council Court came and spoke with Barnon. Illes went to the horse-fair, but you knew that.”

“He went on my orders,” said Rakoczy, wondering what it was that Kornemon was trying so hard to conceal. “And the rest of the household—what of them?”

“For the most part all is well,” said Kornemon.

“For the most part? What is not well?”

“It’s not for me to say,” Kornemon declared.

“It is, when I ask,” Rakoczy said gently but with an authority that demanded an answer.

Kornemon sighed. “Pacar and Tymek fought again.”

Rakoczy was silent for a long moment. “Was either of them hurt?”

“Not badly when you consider what they might have done.” He shrugged. “Pacar has a lump on his head and Tymek’s knuckles are scraped, but Barnon and Ambroz stopped them before anything in the kitchen was damaged, or a knife was found.”

“Most commendable. Do you happen to know what the fight was about?”

“I don’t know,” Kornemon said evasively. He fidgeted, glancing in the direction of the kitchen. “Comes, I ought to—”

“And where was Hruther during all this?” Rakoczy asked; it was most unlike his manservant to allow such a ruction to take place. He could not help but feel anxious; he tried not to show his apprehension.

“I don’t know,” said Kornemon. “I should get this wood to the kitchen.”

Rakoczy nodded and made a sign of dismissal. He waited a short while, in case another servant should happen by, one who would be more forthcoming, who could explain what had become of Hruther. When no one appeared, he went toward the main hall, planning to go to his workroom in the hope that Hruther had left him a message to account for his absence.

*   *   *

Text of a letter from Balint of Santu-Germaniu at Santu-Germaniu to Rakoczy Ferancsi, Comes Santu-Germaniu, in Praha, dictated to Frater Lorand, written on vellum, carried by private courier, never delivered.

To the most esteemed Rakoczy Ferancsi, Comes Santu-Germaniu, presently at Mansion Belcrady in Praha, Bohemia, the most respectful greetings of your steward, Balint of Santu-Germaniu, by the good offices of Frater Lorand, on this, the first day of March in the 1270
^th
Year of Salvation:

My most well-regarded Comes,

This is to inform you that winter is still keeping the Carpathians in its grip, and it appears that spring will arrive later than usual this year. We have had inconsistent weather, all of it bad. There was a week of warm days, when the snows began to melt, which ended in two days of rain, and, as the cold returned, became ice, making your stronghold ice-bound, and giving the appearance of remaining so into April if the local weather-witches are to be believed. This will mean that we will plow and plant later than usual, which may effect the harvest when it comes around, which may mean that we will have to part with more of the harvest than we can spare when Konig Bela’s men come for their taxes. I ask you to inform me what you want me to do if we should have such problems as I anticipate. It may be that I am worried for no good reason, but as your steward, you advised me to keep all eventualities in mind.

The commander of the fortress at Santa-Ioanne came here three months ago and claimed ten sheep, ten hogs, and four foals in the name of Konig Bela. Since you instructed me not to deny the Konig’s men, I made no objection to their raid, for raid it was, but I am afraid that when the spring comes, they will return with the intention of taking more, which I doubt we can provide without putting your fief at a disadvantage. We have already seen wolves in the forest, and if they start to plunder our livestock, then the Konig’s men will leave us in a very poor state. I ask for your permission to send Sylvanu to the horse-and-cattle fair at Cluj in May, to buy a few mares with foals at their sides, and some other livestock as well.

Three shepherds died while driving their flocks into their pens and barns not long after the first snowfall. Rumor has it that they were caught in an avalanche, but others say they were taken by bandits to be sold as slaves to the Byzantines. Some believe that they ran away. This is the fourth time such disappearances have happened in the last year. At first I assumed that it was an avalanche, but almost none of the sheep were lost, as we discovered when we rounded them up, and that leaves raiding parties. Most of the bandits keep to the plains, where they have a greater chance to take captives and plunder, but those seeking slaves are another matter, for they seek to take men, women, and children, and get away with little notice. With you gone, it is likely that these outlaws come here because you are not allowed to keep soldiers to track down those raiders, so they may raid with impunity. I ask you to petition the Konig for the protection of men-at-arms, or allow those of us in your household to keep arms to help drive off the raiders.

There is a record of accounts included with this letter, showing how we have fared since the first snowfall. As you see, the costs for feed has risen. The repair to the cattle barn is complete at the cost of twenty silver coins and eight lambs. We will need to work on the stable next summer, and that may prove as expensive as the barn to repair. As you ordered, the cisterns were cleaned of algae. The dung farmer emptied the latrines and dung channels before the first snowfall. The linen has been washed in saffron-water, and anything in need of darning has been given to the needlewomen. Ten wagon-loads of wood were brought in for the winter, and six of them are still left; the cost was five gold Vaclavs and five silver Emperors. New fences have been built around the chicken coops and rabbit hutches to keep out martens and foxes, and seem to have worked well. We have three barrels of lanthorn-oil left, twenty-two dozen wax candles, and fifty-three barrels of new wine have been laid down. We have turnips, onions, cabbages, and apples in the root-cellar, and thumb-cabages, onions, peppers, and cucumbers pickling in barrels. We may run short of food by spring, but we will manage.

The weavers are busy this winter, and we will have more cloth than usual to offer at the market fair, unless the Konig’s men decide to claim half of it as taxes due. The goat-hair mantels and blankets have turned out particularly well; the woolen bleihauts our needlewomen make should fetch a good price, as well, and if they continue to keep up their present pace of weaving and sewing, there will be an extra set of clothes for all the household and still have much to take to market.

May God move the Konig to soon grant you the right to return to your fief. All of your vassals pray for you, and ask God to watch over you in that foreign place.

Balint of Santu-Germaniu